


again, a little to the left, now

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [95]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, elements of time-travel, in which hermann kinda saves himself (and humanity) by saving newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Second time's the charm, or something like that





	again, a little to the left, now

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Hello! I hope you're having a good day! I hope you like this prompt! "Newt thinks if he’s right he’ll never shake his fist at Fate ever again. He definitely won’t shout ‘fuck you I have free will’ at the ceiling anymore. Not if he’s right.""

"Dude," says Newt, hopped up on one of the rungs of Hermann's ladder, legs swinging. "_Dude,_" he says, again, and relishes the glare that Hermann shoots him; irritation and exasperation, both there, in equal measures, "we're going to fucking die."

Hermann scowls at him and dots his i with a bit more force than necessary. "Yes, thank you for that lovely bit of fortune-telling, Newton," he snaps. "Now, please, get off of my ladder—"

"It's _not,_" Newt says, "I don't—" he huffs. "I mean we're going to die eventually. Not..._that._"

Hermann shoves his legs aside and climbs up to the rung bellow Newt. "Well, we're destined for nothing else, if the media is to be believed," he says, batting aside Newt's hand when the biologist reaches down to pluck at his hair. "Newton, _stop it._"

"Fuck that," Newt says, "we're, like, humans—we've got free will and shit. I mean, have you seen Supernatural—?"

"Only _you_ would still watch that show," Hermann says, with a sniff, which, not fair, it's barely on season fifteen; nose wrinkling just _so,_ fuck, that's not _fair—_

"We have free will," Newt says, stubbornly, and finally gives into the other's push and shove, and climbs down. Hermann says nothing; Newt's preaching to the choir and he knows it, but, like...no one else talks to him, so. "Anyway," he says, "it's depressing when everyone acts like nothing we do can change the outcome."

Hermann sneezes.

"Bless you," Newt says, "you gotta stop inhaling all that chalk-dust, man..."

Hermann's hand, on the chalkboard, stills; he doesn't seem to have registered Newt's jibe; quietly—_too_ quietly—he says, "Perhaps they're right, Newton."

It takes a moment for Newt to realise what he means, but once he does, his temper flares. "Well then what the hell is this for?" he snaps.

The other's still, for a moment. "We all want to feel like we at least tried to...to save those we loved—those that we _love,_" he says; something way, way to fucking..._something,_ there, in his voice. Newt frowns at it. "Dude," he says, "I swear, just yesterday you were harping on about how we were finally winning—what happened to that, man?"

"Oh," says Hermann, and then stops. When he begins again, his voice is wistful. "Yes...hope. I'd..._forgotten._"

Newt stares at him; hard. "Okay, dude," he says, dubiously, "I mean, that makes no sense, but alright."

He goes back to his own side and his kaiju liver; but still, the oddity snags on his mind; sticking like burs in fur. For the rest of the day, too, Hermann seems...distant; mournful, almost, and his eyes take on a misty quality when he sees Newt, which is _definitely_ weird, to say the least, but when Newt asks about it, he just says something vague about recently having lost a good friend.

* * *

Five days without sleep is when it finally comes out; racoon-like black marks painted around Hermann's bloodshot eyes, and his hand shakes; Newt, too, can barely hold his own steady, but he's only been awake for three days, so he's at a bit of an advantage.

"It's not going to work," Hermann murmurs; spread on the futon, neck bent so he fits better.

"Hmm?" Newt hums, from his position on the floor.

"It's not going to work," Hermann says, again. "Oh, God—it's not going to work," he chokes, bolting up; and Newt, suddenly, gets the feeling that he isn't really aware of what's around him.

"Uh, hey, man," he says, propping up on his elbow, and Hermann freezes, staring like he's seen a ghost; trembles.

"You're dead," he says, hoarsely. "I saw—I saw it. You were dead—" His voice rises to a hysterical pitch. "It's not going to work—we're all going to die," he babbles, "it's not going to _work—_"

"Hermann," Newt interrupts, "what the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"I tried," Hermann says. "Oh, Newton—I tried so hard...but it must have failed. It's still happening like I remember. The triple event will still occur, and the bomb will still deflect. I thought..." he trails off. "I thought I could change history," he says; the fight all gone out of him, and his shoulders slump. "I thought I could save you," he says, finally; almost inaudible, and—

A few things happen.

One: Newt is no moron; neither, for that matter, is Hermann, and even in this state, Newt can put the pieces together.

Two: this has all happened before—or, rather, it has for Hermann.

Three: Hermann, genius that he is, has been attempting to change the future.

Hermann, spent, collapses—thankfully, right back onto the futon, feverishly bright eyes slipping shut, limbs askew.

Newt sits there for a moment.

This...can't possibly be true, can it? But no—all evidence is pointing to that; to predetermined futures where the kaiju win.

If he's right, though...perhaps—

Well, if he's right, Newt thinks—if he's right, he'll never shake his fist at Fate ever again. He definitely won't shout "Fuck you, I have free will!" at the ceiling anymore. Not if he's right.

And—shit, honestly, it's...yeah, the realisation that this means that he _doesn't_ have free will is hitting him, yeah, but—well, fuck, if he doesn't have free will, then he can at least _try_ his batshit idea; and, if it's not meant to be, the universe will stop him from going through with it.

He digs out Hermann's parka and lays it over him, returning to his own side of the lab, and begins to form a list of things he'll need to build a makeshift neural drift machine for a kaiju-human neural handshake.

* * *

"You're _alive,_" is the first thing he hears; blood dripping, warm, down over his lip, the tone reverent, relieved, and baffled all in one.

"Yeah, I can feel it," Newt croaks.

Hermann's hand's on his shoulder; steadying, and he looks like he's just on the verge of freaking out, but he says, "This didn't happen last time."

"...last time...?" Newt says, brain fried, honestly; and then remembers. "Oh."

"Yes," says Hermann, thinly.

Newt, eye stinging, gives a weak smile. "I guess you managed to change things after all, huh?"

Hermann blinks rapidly and drags a wrist across his eyes. "Perhaps," he says, voice thick, and Newt offers another smile, a bit stronger, this time. "Perhaps...perhaps I did," Hermann says, and the hand on Newt's shoulder seems to grip like a it's a life-line and Hermann's drowning, and, to be frank?

That's...fine. That's more than fine.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [pacificrimdyke](https://pacificrimdyke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
